Suffer the Innocents
by cindy123
Summary: A madman vows revenge on the Inseparables in the most heinous way possible. Hurt!All. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**So, yeah. I intended for my next story to be Supernatural, but...I had a dream the other night and this story is a result of that dream. Just a two-shot that I had planned to not post until both parts were done, but darn it, I was too excited! I had to post part one! Sue me :)**

 **Nobody you recognize belongs to me (dang it). I only own the icky dude.**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

 **Suffer the Innocents**

Chapter 1

The first thing he felt upon awakening was pain. Skull splitting, brain piercing pain. He groaned, then moaned when the groan only caused the pain to spike more. It took much longer than it should have for him to force his eyes open, but when he finally did it was only to squeeze them shut again against the tiny bit of light that greeted him. He breathed through the nausea roiling in his gut, relaxing slightly when he felt he wouldn't lose all that he had eaten. He heard movement near him and bristled at the idea of not knowing where he was, how he'd gotten there and who or what it was making the noise. He let out a relieved breath when a familiar voice called out to him.

"Porthos…are you okay?" the voice called, both worry and relief evident in the breathy way it sounded.

Porthos took a deep breath, geared himself up and opened his eyes. "'m fine, 'Mis…how bout you…you okay?" he answered, the pain not quite as bad this time.

"Thank God," Aramis breathed out somewhere to Porthos' right. "I'm fine as well. Just a little bump on the head," he added before Porthos could ask again.

"What happened?" Porthos queried as he squinted around the pain and turned toward his friend's voice.

"Near as I can remember, we were jumped outside the tavern," Aramis replied.

Porthos nodded, remembering now the sudden pain in his head once he had stepped out the door with his friends. His heart quickened as he remembered that it wasn't just he and Aramis at the tavern and he turned his head and peered through the gloom of wherever they were. "Athos?" he asked when he could see nobody to his left.

"He's here, next to me. Still out," Aramis replied.

Porthos sagged back in relief and took as deep of a breath as his head would allow. "Thank God the pup wasn't feeling up to coming out with us," he said as he turned his head and tried to make out his friend in the gloom.

"Yes. For once the trouble came for us and not our young Gascon," Aramis agreed. Suddenly, Porthos heard a soft grunt then the sound of Aramis whispering, though he couldn't hear the words.

"'Mis…what's goin' on?" the big man called worriedly.

"Athos has decided to join us finally," Aramis replied. "Seems he's in the same condition as both of us. Come on, Athos, that's good…take your time opening your eyes," he continued as Porthos listened on.

"Wha' the 'ell did I drink las' night?" Athos' hoarse voice queried.

"Ah, my friend, it is not the drink that has made you feel this way I'm afraid," Aramis responded. "We left early, remember? Wasn't the same without d'Artagnan there…wanted to call it an early night. Any of this ringing any bells?"

"Gah…no bells…please," Athos hissed, bringing a small smile to Porthos' lips.

"We were jumped outside the tavern and now we're…wherever this is," Aramis supplied. "Do you remember now?"

Porthos heard shuffling, another grunt and then Athos spoke. "Damn it…I remember walking out the door and seeing you go down, then Porthos, then pain," he said. More shuffling, more frantic this time, "Porthos!"

"'m fine, Athos…right 'ere," Porthos said.

"Thank God," Athos breathed out as he sagged back against whatever it was he was tied to.

"So, who do you suppose we pissed off this time?" Aramis queried.

"Who ain't we pissed off?" Porthos responded lightly.

"True, my friend. We seem to have a knack now don't we?" Aramis said.

"That we do," Athos supplied.

Just then, light spilled into what turned out to be a small supply shed. The three musketeers squinted their eyes against the light and turned to where the door to the shed had been swung open. There in the doorway stood a man, his body silhouetted as bright sunlight poured in behind him, his features masked until he stepped further into the room and smiled down at his three captives.

"Who the 'ell are you?" Porthos hissed as he glared up at the man.

The man, who appeared not much older than them, glanced at Porthos and bowed slightly. "I am Adalard d'Aubigny," he said in introduction.

Porthos cocked his head as he continued to glare up at the man. "Don't ring a bell…should we know you?" he asked.

The man above him smiled then began to pace before the three bound men. "You do not know me," he began, stopping at the feet of each musketeer before continuing his pacing. "You do however know my brother," he added before he stopped once again at Athos' feet and glared down at the man.

Athos lifted an eyebrow and studied the man. He looked familiar, though Athos was sure he had never met the man before. "How do we know your brother? What is his name?" he queried.

"Acelin d'Aubigny," d'Aubigny replied. "My Ace…and you know him well."

"Acelin d'Aubigny…the name does sound familiar, but…" Aramis started.

"You can't remember the man you murdered!?" d'Aubigny suddenly shouted, his face red as he moved to Aramis and viciously kicked his leg.

"Hey!" Porthos spat, his dark eyes flashing angrily at the man.

"I'm fine, Porthos…calm yourself," Aramis hissed through clenched teeth as he breathed through the pain.

"You say we murdered your brother," Athos said, drawing d'Aubigny's attention away from his friends. "We are not in the business of murder. I'm sure you are mistaken," he added.

"Think about the name…and my face. I am older, but my brother resembled me quite closely," d'Aubigny hissed.

The three musketeers were silent as they mulled over the name in their heads. A quick intake of breath let the others know that Athos had remembered.

"Three years ago, your brother was found guilty of thievery and murder. He was hanged in Paris for his crimes. We were the three men who brought him to justice," Athos stated uneasily as he cast a quick glance at his brothers.

"Give the man a medal!" d'Aubigny cried.

"We did not murder your brother. His actions are what brought him to his end," Athos stated calmly.

"My brother was innocent! His so called trial was a witchhunt! He did not deserve to die and now you will all pay for what you did!" d'Aubigny shrieked.

"There were witnesses who identified your brother…" Athos started only to be stopped when d'Aubigny lurched forward, dropped to his knees and roughly grabbed his hair, yanking his head back and drawing a hiss of pain from the swordsman.

"The witnesses were wrong! He may have looked like the one who committed the crimes, but he wasn't there!" d'Aubigny seethed, his face mere inches from Athos'.

Aramis glanced at Porthos, his dark eyes wide, before he turned back to Athos and d'Aubigny. "Wait…it was you. You robbed and murdered that couple…and you let your brother pay the price," he said accusingly.

d'Aubigny let loose of Athos' hair and pushed back onto his heels as he looked over at the marksman. "By the time word got to me that my brother had been arrested, it was too late. I got to Paris in time to see him die. I couldn't save him, so I vowed to him that I would get revenge," he said, his voice tinged with grief and hatred.

"So, you plan to kill us," Athos stated. "We were only doing our jobs…"

"The musketeers had no business in the matter!"

"But they did. The man who was murdered was a close friend of the King. He demanded that we find whomever was responsible and that is what we did," Aramis said.

"You didn't! You trusted the word of drunks who said that it was my brother, even when it was dark!" d'Aubigny shouted. "My brother was good and kind. He didn't deserve to die like that!"

Athos let out a shaky breath and peered up at d'Aubigny. "We are sorry if a mistake was made, but we had enough evidence against your brother. The witness' accounts, plus we found a ring belonging to the murdered man in his possession. He never denied the charges against him," he explained.

"I gave him that ring as a gift for his 24th birthday. He would have known once you identified the ring what had happened and he would have never denied the charges lest suspicion fall on me. I sealed his fate by giving him that ring, but you…you failed to see the goodness in him. You could not see past what was put in front of you…you didn't once think that he may be innocent!"

"How can you fault us? You should have been aware of the possibility that there would be witnesses and by giving your brother that ring…"

"You should have known by looking into his eyes that he was innocent! You should have done all you could to find the true murderer!" d'Aubigny screamed as tears flowed down his cheeks. "He was the only true and pure thing in my life and you stole him from me! You forced me to watch as he met the end of a rope! I see him die over and over again in my dreams! You must pay for what you have done!"

"So you are going to kill us. Will that bring him back?" Aramis asked, his heart torn between feeling anger at this man for what he was about to do, and pity for him for what he had lost.

d'Aubigny turned to Aramis and smiled. The smile sent shivers down the marksman's back. "Already the wheels are in motion. The traps have been set. By tonight, I will have my revenge." The three musketeers watched in shocked confusion as the madman turned and casually walked to the door. They could see men outside…whether they were hired thugs or men close to d'Aubigny were left to be seen. As he stepped through the door, d'Aubigny turned and smiled again. "Tonight this will all be over," he said before he shut the door, leaving the three musketeers in darkness once more.

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d'Artagnan sat in his normal spot at the table in the garrison, his dark eyes watching the entrance like his life depended on it. He had yet to see his three friends and worry was beginning to worm its way through his mind. They had missed breakfast, then morning muster and the Gascon could tell by the way Treville looked at him that it wasn't due to a sudden mission of some sort. In fact, Treville had been on his way to the table when a messenger from the palace had rushed to him and the Captain had changed directions and hurried from the garrison. Now d'Artagnan sat and waited and tried to figure out what he should do. He had not gone with them the night before as he felt a bad headache coming on and didn't wish to damper their evening. Now, he wished that he had accompanied them so that he would at least know where they were. He sat for several more minutes, then stood, his mind made up that he would go in search of his brothers. He was headed for the gates when a young boy came through and looked around before his eyes fell on d'Artagnan. The boy rushed over and looked up at the young musketeer.

"Hello, sir. I'm looking for the musketeer, d'Artagnan?" the boy announced.

"You've found him," d'Artagnan responded.

The boy held out a sealed, folded piece of parchment that was clutched in his hand. "This is for you," he said.

d'Artagnan took the parchment from the boy, but before he could ask who had given it to him to deliver, the boy turned and ran across the yard and through the gate. Sighing, d'Artagnan opened the parchment and began to read, his face paling and heart pounding as he finished. He looked around, but the garrison was abnormally quiet. He considered waiting for Treville to return to show him the letter, but it could be hours before his return. d'Artagnan read the letter again, then drew in a deep breath. Decision made, he scrambled up the stairs and hurried to the Captain's office. He laid the letter on the desk where Treville was sure to see it as soon as he returned, then he hurried back out onto the walkway, ran down the stairs and across the yard to the stables. He quickly prepared his horse, made sure he had his weapons then walked the horse out of the stables. He mounted the horse and with a quick look back at the garrison yard, he gave the horse a kick and left the garrison.

d'Artagnan rode for several hours, stopping only twice to allow his horse to rest and drink from a small stream next to the road. He had not taken the time to pack any provisions for himself, nor did he bring a water pouch, so he settled for kneeling at the stream and cupping water into his parched mouth. He was beginning to feel fatigue set in when finally, his destination came into view. He was thankful for his ability to easily memorize things he had read since he had felt the need to leave the letter behind. He stopped and surveyed his surroundings, weary that he was being watched. Not seeing anything, d'Artagnan guided his horse off the road and headed across a wide field to the small, rundown farm in the distance. If he was to believe the letter he received, this was where he would find his friends. He rode cautiously up to the small farmhouse. He looked around, uncertain now if he was in the right place as there seemed to be nobody around, when suddenly he found himself surrounded by five men, two of whom rushed forward and dragged his struggling form from his horse. He was forced into the farmhouse where a man stood, obviously awaiting his arrival.

"Ah, d'Artagnan…we finally meet," the man said as his eyes swept over the seething Gascon.

"Who are you? Where are my friends!" d'Artagnan hissed, his dark eyes narrowed as he glared at the man before him.

"All in due time, my young friend," the man said as he continued to study his prisoner, his attention sending a shiver down d'Artagnan's spine. "You're about the same size," the man then said, mostly to himself. He gave someone behind d'Artagnan a slight nod and suddenly, pain exploded through the young musketeer's head, his body going limp between the two men holding him. "Take him and get him out of those clothes. Dress him in the more appropriate clothing I have laid out in the bedroom, then secure him until I'm ready for him," the man instructed. The two men holding d'Artagnan nodded and dragged their captive away as Adalard d'Aubigny looked on with a smile on his face.

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Dusk was slowly making the change to night when d'Aubigny next entered the small shack that held his three prisoners. The three musketeers glared up at him as he stood over them. "It is time," d'Aubigny said. At these words, four men filed into the room. Without a word, two of the men went to Athos, one of them cutting away the bindings that held his wrists to the beam behind him while the other held a gun to his head to keep him from fighting. His wrists were tied once again, in front of him this time, and then the two men pulled him up from the ground and dragged him from the shack, Aramis and Porthos shouting and cursing the entire time, until the other two men came and did the same thing to Aramis, leaving Porthos to stare up at d'Aubigny with hatred in his eyes.

"I'm gonna kill you," Porthos hissed.

"Not likely," d'Aubigny retorted just as the two men who had taken Athos away came back and headed toward Porthos. The same as with Athos and Aramis, a gun was held to his head as one of the men cut the ropes around his wrists. He struggled when the man tried to re-tie his wrists, but stopped when the muzzle of the gun was painfully pressed to his head. Once he was bound, he was pulled up and dragged, just as his friends had been, out of the shack. What he saw when he was outside made his stomach knot. Athos and Aramis were kneeled on the ground, their wrists secured to metal rings bolted to posts embedded in the ground, their eyes staring at a large tree that had been turned into a makeshift gallows several feet away from them. Porthos was shoved to the ground beside Aramis and once he was arranged the way they wanted him and his rope secured to his own post, he glared up at d'Aubigny.

"So, you mean to 'ang us…or one of us," Porthos spat, his lip drawn up into a sneer. "'ow original."

d'Aubigny smiled down at the man, but didn't say a word. He motioned to a man who stood at the back door of an old, rundown farmhouse. The man nodded then turned and gave two quick knocks on the door. The three Inseparables watched as the door opened and two men emerged with a third man held between them, his head covered with a burlap bag, his feet bare. The three musketeers glanced at each other in confusion then turned back and watched as the man was led to the tree and made to stand next to the noose that hung down from one large branch. He struggled against the men who held him, but his struggles were weak, indicating he was either drugged or injured. When they reached the gallows the two men turned their captive until they faced d'Aubigny and his prisoners. With a quick glance over his shoulder at the three restrained men, d'Aubigny walked the distance to the tree and stood in front of the mystery man. He placed his hand almost lovingly on the side of his covered face, reaching behind and holding his neck when he tried to pull away from him, then turned to look at the musketeers.

"You three will not die today," d'Aubigny stated. "Instead, this man will die for your crimes. One innocent life for another innocent life," he added. He smiled at the confusion and anger he saw on the three men's faces.

"Don't do this, d'Aubigny. This man, whoever he is, has nothing to do with this…let him go and punish me, and only me, instead…for I led the investigation that led to your brother's execution," Athos called, his eyes moving to the man at the gallows when he began to shake his head and struggle even more with his captors.

"No, Athos of the King's musketeers…this is how it must play out. One innocent life for another…a brother for a brother," d'Aubigny said in response.

"What do ya mean, a brother for a brother?" Porthos asked, his heart suddenly racing in his chest.

d'Aubigny smiled again then turned to the man behind him. He reached up and grabbed the bag that covered his head and pulled it free. The three musketeers gasped when there, below the noose, stood their Gascon, his eyes wide and frightened as he met their gazes. He tried to call out to them, but the gag over his mouth prevented any words from forming.

"You son of a bitch!" Porthos hollered, his eyes wild as he looked from his young friend to the man who intended to murder him. "I'm going to rip you apart, one limb at a time!" he threatened as he tugged uselessly at the rope that held him captive.

"d'Artagnan," Aramis whispered brokenly as he took in his younger brother's trembling form and the terror in his eyes.

"If you harm him in any way, your punishment will be slow and painful…I can assure you of that," Athos hissed, his cold eyes narrowed at d'Aubigny. "Porthos is quite adept at making people suffer," he added.

d'Aubigny chuckled as he moved behind the chair that had been placed beneath the noose. "Just remember…his death is of your doing. Your innocent little brother, stolen from you like mine was stolen from me…watching him die as I watched mine die. Finally, you will know what it feels like to lose someone so dear to you that his absence will eat away at you until you have nothing left inside. You will be hollow shells, existing, but not truly living…just as I have been these past years."

"Don't do this. It will not bring your brother back," Aramis pleaded.

"You are right. It will not bring my brother back, but that isn't what this is about, now is it?" d'Aubigny said. He nodded to the men who held d'Artagnan and watched as one of the men covered his head once more with the bag. The other man reached for the noose and slipped it over d'Artagnan's head, then tightened it around his neck. The Gascon was forced up onto the chair and the rope was pulled until there was very little slack left, then finally, the other end of the rope was secured to the trunk of the tree.

The three musketeers were frantic in their attempts to break free of their bindings, their eyes never leaving their younger brother and the man who stood behind him. With a cold smile on his face, d'Aubigny stepped forward and glanced up at the now still Gascon. With the sound of the Inseparables cries of rage filling the night air, d'Aubigny kicked the chair away.

 **What in the hell did I just do!? I am evil...I know this and I accept this. Please, send me a quick message to let me know what you think. I'll have the rest posted by early next week. Thanks for reading!**

 **Cindy**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow...I've been overwhelmed by the response to this story. I never expected so many follows and favorites...and reviews! Just...wow. Thank you all so much! I'm so happy that you approve of what I've come up with here :) I would have had this done yesterday, but the holiday meant I didn't work so I had to wait until today to finish up the second half of the story. I really hope it doesn't disappoint! So, with all of my babbling complete, I'll let you get on with it!**

 **Suffer the Innocents**

Chapter 2

When Captain Treville walked through the garrison gates, the first thing he did was look for the Inseparables and their newly commissioned fourth, d'Artagnan. When those that he sought were nowhere to be seen, he frowned and made his way up to his office. It had surprised him that morning when his three best men did not show up for morning muster, and the worried look in their Gascon's eyes told him that the young man was equally in the dark as to their whereabouts. He had been on his way to ask his newest musketeer about the Inseparables absence, but then a summons came from the palace and he had to make a detour…a detour that had lasted over two hours. He was fully intent on speaking with d'Artagnan when he returned, that is, if the three wayward musketeers had yet to make an appearance. The absence still of the three, and now their fourth member brought a feeling of dread to the pit of the stomach of the seasoned soldier. It was not like any of the four to be absent like this.

Treville stepped into his office and after shutting the door behind him, he walked to his desk and plopped onto his chair, his hand brushing through his short hair as he let out long breath. He dropped his gaze to his desk, his eyes widening slightly at a parchment lying atop all the other papers scattered over the surface, a parchment that hadn't been there when he had left earlier in the morning. He lifted the parchment and was startled yet again when he saw that the letter was addressed to d'Artagnan. He began to read and with every word the sudden pit in his stomach grew larger and larger. Finally, when he'd come to the end of the letter he all but ran for the door, ripping it open and rushing out onto the walkway. He looked over the railing and saw a few musketeers mulling about. He called out for the nearest musketeer.

"You! Henri!"

Henri turned and looked up to where his captain stood. "Yes ,sir?" he called.

"Gather together five men, yourself included! Prepare your horses and have mine prepared as well," the captain commanded. "Send two of the men for provisions and the other two for medical supplies from the infirmary. And hurry, Henri! We must be quick!"

"Yes, sir!" Henri replied before rushing away to gather the best men he could find to complete the tasks assigned.

Treville nodded and headed back to his office. He retrieved his weapons belt, complete with sword, rapier and musket, from a hook on the wall and secured it around his waist. He made sure his pouch was full of musket balls then took his coat from another hook and pulled it on. He opened the letter and read the words again. He shook his head, certain beyond all thinking that d'Artagnan had left on his own, just as the letter had instructed him to do, and would be riding into a certain trap. Treville was certain that d'Artagnan was smart enough to know it was a trap, but his loyalty and love for his three comrades would supercede any thoughts to his own safety. The problem was, d'Artagnan didn't know the name d'Aubigny, but Treville did. If a close relative of Acelin d'Aubigny, a young man executed three years earlier, had gotten it into their head to seek revenge for his death, his newest musketeer could be heading into a very dangerous situation…a situation that apparently his three best men had already fallen into. Treville squeezed the letter in his hand then stuffed it into his pocket.

"Damn it, d'Artagnan! You should have waited for me!" the captain hissed as he sat down at his desk and penned a letter to the King, explaining that new information had come to light regarding the murder of his trusted friend and his friend's wife three years ago. In the letter he explained that his musketeers had disappeared while investigating the new information and that he must ride to locate them. Once the letter was finished, he sealed it then hurried from his office. He called to one of the recruits and sent him, with the letter, to the palace. Ten minutes later, he and five of his musketeers left the garrison on a mission…to bring their four comrades and friends home.

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When Athos saw the chair kicked away and his protégé fall, all logical thinking left him. He screamed out his name, but shock, grief and overwhelming guilt had him slumping on the ground, his eyes filling with tears. For a moment, all he could do was sit and watch as d'Artagnan's legs flailed, his feet trying to find purchase while his body jerked as it swung slightly from side to side. Athos was watching his baby brother die and there was nothing he could do about it. Beside him, Aramis fought against his bonds and screamed out words Athos couldn't understand and beyond him, Porthos had gone almost animalistic, roaring out his rage and anguish as he pushed himself to his feet and pulled at the post that held him captive. Athos' eyes met those of d'Aubigny and it was in that moment that Athos felt the deepest hatred he had ever held for another human being. Not even the murderer of his brother had garnered such hatred. He moved his gaze back to d'Artagnan, his heart sinking as he saw that the Gascon's struggles were weakening and he realized that the end was near for the boy he had grown so close to so quickly.

So lost in his sorrow was Athos that he almost didn't register it when the sudden sound of a gunshot rang out. His eyes widened as he saw one of d'Aubigny's men fall. It was at that moment that he heard a loud pop and a grunt of pain from his left. He had just begun to turn his head when he saw Porthos racing toward d'Artagnan, the post that had held him to the ground swinging from the rope still tied around the large man's wrists. Athos heard Porthos scream d'Artagnan's name as he fell to his knees at d'Artagnan's feet, the furious musketeer stretching his still bound arms out until they encircled the Gascon's legs. Porthos pushed back up and wrapped his arms around d'Artagnan's hips then pushed fully to his feet, finally releasing the tension of the rope around d'Artagnan's neck. Athos could only watch in horror as d'Aubigny rushed toward his two friends as all hell was breaking loose all around them. Porthos saw the man coming and turned so that his body was between the coming threat and d'Artagnan, but just as the madman reached him, another shot rang out and d'Aubigny jerked back, a scream of pain ripped from his mouth.

Before Athos knew what was happening, Captain Treville had come into view, the man now at Porthos' side with a knife in hand, cutting away at the rope that was slowly killing their youngest brother…if it hadn't done its job already. Athos watched as Porthos took the brunt of d'Artgnan's weight when the rope was finally severed. Suddenly, Henri was at his side cutting the rope around his wrists. Once he was finally free, he wasted no time to thank the older musketeer as he all but flew across the yard and fell to his knees beside the still form of his protégé. Porthos, his wrists now free from their bonds as well, was desperately pulling the rope from d'Artagnan's neck, calling out to his young friend the entire time. Treville was sitting back on his heels, his eyes watching the scene as if he were in shock. Finally, the rope was gone and Porthos pulled the bag carefully from d'Artagnan's head. It was at this moment that Aramis literally jumped over all of them and landed on the opposite side of the Gascon, the medic already checking for signs of life. d'Artagnan's lips had taken on a slightly bluish hue and his face was deathly pale. Aramis leaned over the boy, his ear to his mouth, then sat up straight and slapped his cheek once, then twice. Suddenly, d'Artagnan gasped, his body arching as he fought to take in air. Athos took his hand as it reached out instinctively and gave it a gentle squeeze as Aramis spoke softly to him, begging him to open his eyes and smiling when the Gascon obeyed. Porthos, who had been sitting by, his hand cradling the young man's neck, upon seeing his eyes blinking open, let out a deep breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. When d'Artagnan's wrecked voice asked, "'s it over?", the large man sobbed out a relieved laugh then turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he searched the yard. Gently, he rested d'Artagnan's head on the ground and pushed to his feet.

"Where is he!" Porthos roared, his hands balled into tight fists. The sound that came from him when he saw d'Aubigny lying on the ground with two musketeers standing over him, the man holding his bleeding shoulder, sent shivers down the spines of all who heard him. He stomped over the ground toward the cowering man and once he reached him, he grabbed him by his jacket and yanked him up from the ground. "Do ya remember what I said I was gonna do to ya?" he hissed into the terrified man's face.

"P-please…I…I…," d'Aubigny stammered, his eyes wide with fear as he stared at the rage filled man before him.

"Beggin' ain't gonna get you nothin'!" Porthos seethed as he began to violently shake the helpless man. He growled when he felt a hand grab his arm, but when he heard his captain's voice, he stopped and turned to meet the man's gaze.

"Porthos, I know what you're feeling right now, but I can't allow you to kill him. He needs to be brought to Paris and stand trial for what he's done here," Captain Treville said, his eyes filled with sympathy.

"'e hanged d'Artagnan! And for what? To punish us for what 'appened to 'is brother three years ago! And you know what the kicker is? His brother was innocent! That's why 'e chose d'Artagnan…one innocent for another! That's what 'e said!" Porthos shouted, his hands still buried in the whimpering man's jacket.

"What do you mean he was innocent?" Treville queried.

"'e confessed that 'e was the one that killed those people, not 'is brother. That's why 'e did this…to make us feel the pain of losing a little brother, just like 'e did," Porthos said, his voice having lost the fury it had held before, and now just filled with pain and guilt.

"Porthos, we'll get this sorted out, but you have to let him go. He will pay for what he's done," Treville said, his hand now gently gripping the large man's arm.

Porthos huffed angrily then pushed d'Aubigny away from him. He smiled contentedly when the man cried out as he hit the ground. He turned and together he and Treville walked back toward where Aramis was still working on d'Artagnan. Suddenly, someone shouted out a warning and Porthos and Trevilled instinctively ducked at the same time a shot rang out. A few moments later they stood and turned to see d'Aubigny lying completely still on the ground, blood seeping from a hole in the middle of his forehead, and a musket in his hand. They turned to see Henri standing behind Athos, his smoking musket in his hand. Treville let out a shaky breath as Porthos nodded his thanks to the older musketeer. Both men then continued their walk back to where Aramis and Athos still were knelt beside their little brother.

"'ow is 'e?" Porthos asked as he once again sank to his knees near d'Artagnan's head.

Aramis looked up and smiled warmly. "He should be fine after some rest. He's had a knock to the head so he may be concussed on top of the hanging, but I can't tell. We need to watch for swelling of his throat as well, but I think if we can get some cool compresses on him, we can keep that from becoming a bigger issue," the medic explained, not only to Porthos, but the other men who had gathered around the group.

"Can he make the trip to Paris?" Treville queried, his eyes watching his youngest musketeer as the Gascon fought to keep conscious.

"Absolutely not. He needs a bed and several days to recover," Aramis replied.

Treville nodded then looked up at one of the men who stood watching. "Go check the farmhouse…see if it is liveable," he commanded, to which the musketeer nodded and trotted off toward the farmhouse.

"If the house is not sufficient, there is a small village a few miles further down the road. I believe there is an inn there," Treville said as he met Aramis' eyes. The medic nodded, then glanced up at Porthos when the man let out a pained grunt.

"You're hurt?" Aramis asked when he saw his friend holding his shoulder.

It was then that Athos, who had been silent as he continued to hold d'Artagnan's hand, remembered the horrible popping sound he'd heard when Porthos had finally pulled the post from the ground. "Your shoulder," he stated as he looked over at his friend.

Porthos looked over at his friend and shook his head. "Popped out when I was tryin' to get free. No big deal," he said in reply.

Aramis shook his head, the medic muttering under his breath as he turned his attention back to d'Artagnan. Porthos grinned as Athos returned his attention to the Gascon as well. A few minutes later, the musketeer who had been sent to check the farmhouse returned. "There's a bed with linens, wood by the fireplace, provisions and a stream not far from the house," the musketeer said. "Oh, and I found d'Artagnan's clothes and pauldron in the bedroom," he added.

It was then that the others realized that d'Artagnan was in fact not wearing his own clothes. "What the hell? Why would d'Aubigny dress him in different clothes?" Aramis queried as he gazed up at his comrades.

"I have no idea," Athos said, his blue eyes moving to rest on the dead body of their abductor.

"Maybe…maybe 'e dressed 'im in 'is brother's clothes?" Porthos suggested after a few moments.

The three inseparables looked at each other then back down at a now sleeping d'Artagnan. "Sick bastard," Aramis muttered as he shook his head. After a moment, he let out a long breath then looked up. "Let's get him into the house. I'll need cold water brought up from the stream so I can put compresses on his throat. We'll need a fire as well," he instructed. When Porthos made a move to pick the Gascon up, Athos grabbed his arm and shook his head when the large man looked over at him.

"Not with that shoulder, Porthos," Athos drawled.

"I can carry the whelp just fine, Athos," Porthos argued.

"And if you drop him? What then?"

Porthos rolled his eyes, but finally nodded. "Fine…but I would never drop 'im," he muttered indignantly.

It was Treville who finally lifted the Gascon from the ground and carried him to the house, the captain making the decision when he saw the shape his men were truly in. He laid him gently on the bed as Aramis searched the house for anything he could use to take care of the young man. Treville, having verified that all of d'Aubigny's men had been killed in the rescue, instructed his men to bury the bodies. He checked the stables himself, finding not only d'Artaganan's horse, but several others as well. When he returned to the house, he found Aramis placing a cold cloth over d'Artagnan's throat and noted with some concern that the boy hadn't even flinched when the cloth touched his skin. Aramis, seeing the captain's concern smiled reassuringly.

"He's fine, Captain. Breathing is a bit wheezy, but that's to be expected. The knot on his head tells me he took a pretty hard hit, but I'm confident there will be no lasting ill effects. His body just needs to rest," the medic explained.

Treville nodded then turned his attention to Porthos. The big man sat on the floor in the corner of the room, a neat pile of clothes with d'Artagnan's pauldron lying on top sitting next to him. He held his arm to his body, but his eyes were on the still form in the bed. "What of Porthos' shoulder?" he asked as he turned back to Aramis.

"I'll pop it back in once I finish with d'Artagnan. Shouldn't be but a few minutes. I'll need your help though, Captain," Aramis responded.

"Of course," Treville said. He then cast his gaze to Athos, who had pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat, his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands, his eyes intense as he watched his protégé sleep. Guilt rolled off the swordsman in waves and though Treville could sense guilt in all three of the men, it was the most palpable with his next in command. He walked across the room and placed his hand on Athos' shoulder. "This isn't your fault, Athos. You have to know this. It isn't the fault of any of you," he said.

Athos didn't look up, didn't seem to acknowledge his presence at all. It was only when he spoke that Treville knew he had heard him. "It feels like it is my fault," he softly said. "If I had been more diligent, been more critical in going over the evidence…maybe I would have seen that things didn't add up."

Aramis looked up and eyed his friend. "Athos, the evidence was all there. The witness identifications, the ring…it was all there. How were we to know that he had a brother who had given him that ring? There was no way for us to know that," the medic reasoned.

Athos looked up at his friend and shook his head. "Maybe d'Aubigny was right. Maybe if I had looked more closely I would have seen the innocence that resided in Acelin d'Aubigny's eyes," he said with a sigh.

"No. This is not your fault. Adalard d'Aubigny is the one at fault here. He's the one who killed those people. He's the one who gave his brother the ring of the man he murdered. He put his brother in that noose," Aramis cried, his heart breaking at the look of despair in his brother's eyes. "The only guilt any of us should be feeling for any of this is the fact that we allowed ourselves to be taken by surprise. The rest is solely on d'Aubigny."

Athos looked at his friend and truly wanted to believe what he said was true. His heart ached with guilt when he looked at the deep, purple bruises that had formed around d'Artagnan's neck. He could see the entire scenario happening over and over again in his mind and it made him sick to his stomach that he could do nothing other in that moment than to sit and watch his baby brother die. If it weren't for Porthos' sometimes inhuman strength, d'Artagnan would be dead and the thought of it made him want to cry. It was only when a soft, weak voice called to him that he was able to hear the truth in Aramis' words.

"'mis' right…not y'r fault…"

Athos leaned forward and took d'Artagnan's hand in his. "d'Artagnan…do not speak. Save your strength," Athos instructed as he stared into the dark, pain filled eyes of his protégé.

"Listen…to…me," d'Artagnan managed to say. "Y'r not to blame…I was stupid…not careful," he added, his words barely audible as he gazed pleadingly up at his mentor.

Athos shook his head and squeezed the Gascon's hand more firmly. "Don't you dare place the blame on yourself. Don't you dare!"

"N't you either…please," d'Artagnan whispered, his eyes drooping as the exchanged drained whatever energy he had left.

Athos smiled as he lifted d'Artagnan's hand and placed a soft kiss to the cool fingers. "I promise I will try," he said as he watched the young man nod then his eyes close. He watched him for a few moments then looked up and met Aramis' expectant gaze. "Maybe there is truth to what you say, Aramis. I will try to remember where the blame truly lies," he said. Aramis grinned as he shook his head and rolled his eyes. He looked at Captain Treville and tipped his head toward Porthos.

"Now that I have done what I can for our Gascon, would you please help me with the brute in the corner, Captain?" the medic queried with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

Captain Treville nodded and together, he and Aramis popped the large musketeer's shoulder back into place, a small grunt the only indication from Porthos that the action caused him any pain. Aramis then took the shirt they had removed from d'Artagnan and used it to secure Porthos' arm to his body. Once he was done he attempted to persuade Porthos that there was room in the bed next to d'Artagnan, but the large man balked at the idea of crowding their brother, insisting that he needed the bed while he himself did not. Finally, Aramis relented and let his friend remain where he was on the floor, as long as Porthos agreed to sleep and let he and Athos watch over d'Artagnan. Once all was settled, Aramis pulled up his own chair and sat down opposite of Athos. Treville, having stood back and watched the exchange shook his head and smiled fondly.

"Can I assume that the three of you have things in hand?" Treville asked as he moved to stand at the end of the bed.

Athos looked over at his Captain and nodded. "d'Artagnan will be taken care of, Captain…fear not," he replied.

"It isn't just d'Artagnan who has been put through the wringer. I am inquiring about all of you, not just the pup," Treville said.

"Rest assured…we will be fine. You and the others can return to Paris as soon as you see fit," Athos stated as he returned his gaze to the sleeping Gascon.

Treville gave a quick nod then turned his attention to Aramis. "How long do you think it will take before he is well enough to ride?" he queried.

Aramis looked down at his patient then back up at the captain. "Two, maybe three days…barring any complications," he responded.

"Very good. The others and I will sleep here for the night and leave at first light. I will expect to see you all back in Paris by the end of the week," Treville said.

Aramis dipped his head in acknowledgement then returned his attention to d'Artagnan. "We will see you then, Captain." With that, Treville left the room, softly closing the door behind him, a fond smile on his face.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

It was three days after the departure of Captain Treville and the five musketeers who had come to their rescue that the four musketeers left behind at the old farmstead were finally ready to head back home to Paris. d'Artagnan had developed a fever the first night, but the diligence of his friends had nipped the potentially dangerous setback in the bud. It did however force them to stay one day longer then they would have liked to, but Aramis had finally declared that the Gascon was strong enough to make the trip. Porthos' shoulder, though still sore, gave him little to no trouble so Aramis had removed the shirt that held the arm tight against his body and instead made a sling to keep the arm steady, but still allowed Porthos to ride with ease. With d'Artagnan muttering under his breath at the indignity of it all, Aramis and Athos helped him to mount his horse and made sure that the change in elevation had not made him nauseous or dizzy.

"For the hundredth time…I'm fine!" d'Artagnan cried, though the hoarseness of his voice told a different story. At the looks his friends gave him, d'Artagnan rolled his eyes and let out a long suffering sigh. "Okay…maybe I can't talk that well, but I can ride, so can we ease up on the mother henning and get moving? I'd really like to sleep in my own bed tonight!"

Athos chuckled as he noted the look of annoyance on his protégé's face. His eyes moved lower and his heart clenched as he took in the still vivid purple bruise around the young man's throat. They had come so close to losing him and the mere thought of it was enough to make the man weak in the knees. d'Artagnan, seeing where his mentor's gaze had settled, lifted his hand and gently ran his fingers over his throat.

"I'm fine, Athos…it barely hurts anymore," the Gascon said. "Please, do not agonize over this any longer. I am alive…we all are alive."

Athos looked up and met d'Artagnan's pleading gaze. He smiled and dipped his head in a quick nod before he moved to mount his borrowed horse. Once Porthos and Aramis were ready, Athos took one final look back at the tree that had nearly been the death of their youngest then met the eyes of each of his brothers. "Come, let's go home," he said as he kicked his horse into action.

The four musketeers left the farmstead, and all of the fear and pain it had brought them behind as they headed toward Paris. Brothers in arms, and in life. All for one, and one for all.

 **The End**

 **So, that's it! I hope you'll let me know if you liked it! Thank you all so much for reading! Take care!**

 **Cindy**


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